The Coterie Mysteries
by Intenseam
Summary: When the weird and unexplainable happens, its our job to solve it. From murders to disappearing thieves, no matter if its in downtown L.A or Singapore. We'll be there and we'll get it done. So if you've got a case of the paranormal and no leads, call the Coterie.
1. Chapter 1

The sky was clear, the sun was out and the heat clung to the air and to the skin. It was a beautiful day, all things considered. Romen and I were wasting time outside a Popeye's; lazily sipping on ice teas and watching the people walk by with the same lethargic disposition. God, Florida had a lot of old people. All leathery, in their bright sweats and visors. We had just gotten off a case of stolen identity and fraud. The FBI had been looking for this guy for a while with no luck, so they enlisted the help of the _Coterie_. You went to the Coterie when either every avenue had been exhausted or if there was something going on that was outside the realm of reason. We chased this guy from San Antonio all the way to Miami, tracking his trail. He was a novice to say the least and proved to be an unworthy opponent for the two of us. For some odd reason, Romen decided we should stick around for the afternoon in Miami. Like he had some inkling that we'd be needed soon enough. Whether or not it was divine intervention or his startling intuition, Romen's phone began to ring.

"Romen" he answers just with his name. No _hellos_, no _how are you_, straight to the point. I can tell it's a doozy by the way his mouth sets grimly and his stare darkens.

"Where?" he asks, then, "Do the Miami PD know?" He nods to himself. "On it"

He puts the rental in drive and we're off to our next case.

"What do we have?" I ask.

"Double homicide" he replies, emotionless.

"How does this concern the Coterie?" I ask and he shrugs.

"Headquarters doesn't have the details yet but they've got a forensic guy on the scene that will fill us in"

When we arrive, the Miami police, homicide investigation and forensics are all there, bustling in and out of a mid-century cottage like ants out of a dune. First thing I notice is that the forensics and homicide are in HAZMAT suits. When I step out of the car, the second thing I notice are the bloody prints they leave behind on the cement footpath. Third thing I notice when I get near the doorway, is the strong stench of decay. It was enough to peal the skin from my face. I cover my nose, unsure if I even want to go in. Romen brings me a pair of plastic booties to pull over my sneakers and a medical mask.

"Put these on" he instructs. "Our guy is waiting inside"

I do as I'm told and gingerly walk in, trying to keep my composure in front of Romen. I didn't want him to think me weak so I'll just have to force a brave face. The floor was covered in a thick pond of blood. It had congealed in the summer heat and was now a sticky pool of red tar that stretched throughout the living space in an almost swamp-like manner. And in the centre of this gory bayou, on the couch were two bodies, sitting side by side in front of the television. It was almost as if they were alive and just watching TV together and that we had intruded on the scene. But they must have been dead. They're skin was pale white; their irises had become grey after rigor mortis set it and flies were dotting in and out of their mouths. Next to them was a tall, thin man, feverously jotting down notes on a pad. He looks up, sees us and his smile becomes eerie, unfit for the panorama surrounding him.

"You must be with the Coterie" he comments, wading closer.

"And you must be Dr. Wes" replies Romen and he shakes the feeble man's hand cautiously. "What can you tell us?"

"I'm not sure. The more I investigate, the more questions I have" he answers unnervingly. By the sound of his voice, it became clear that he isn't out of the know very often. He was dressed differently from the rest of the forensic squad. He donned no HAZMAT gear; instead he was dressed in a fine tailored suit and had booties and a mask on like us. We stuck out like a sore thumb among the other investigators.

"For instance" he begins. "I don't think all this blood came from our two victims"

"Why do you say that?" I ask and he chuckles. He begins to wade back to the couch and we follow after him. He was an oddball, no wonder he worked for the Coterie. He bends down and sweeps the female victim's red hair away from her neck with the end of his pencil, revealing two puncture scars aligned under the jaw.

"The male has them as well" says Wes.

"They're vampires" murmurs Romen, connecting the dots. Well, now we know why the Coterie's involved. The fact that the turn scars were still so visible meant that these vampires were young, probably a year or so old after being turned.

"This blood – roughly two gallons - isn't theirs. This also means I can't tell how long they've been dead"

"How could someone not only sneak up on two vampires but also have the ability to kill one without alarming the other?" asks Romen. That was an excellent question; too bad no one had the answer. Not because nothing was possible, but because anything was possible. Invisibility, super speed, more vampires, etc., all in a day's work for the Coterie.

"Better yet, what did they use to kill them?" I ask. "Stakes, wooden bullets, hawthorn and the sun will make their bodies disintegrate"

"I'll do a full autopsy and run a toxicology scan on their gum tissue, maybe the killer used something off the _HEXchange_"

When the bizarre became more pronounced and the Coterie was created, a slew of free agents appeared on the scene as well. These _bounty hunters_ – like many other shady characters – use the deep web to communicate and trade weaponry and other inventions to hunt down paranormal beings and return them for an award, dead or alive. The market they use to do this is called the HEXchange. Clever name, sure but surprisingly hard to find and even harder to impede. Its been on the Coterie's black-list for more than two decades now and we're no closer to ending it than we were twenty years ago.

"If the blood isn't from the two victims then it must have been placed here" I say.

"Which means we could use it to find time of death" adds Romen, mirroring my thoughts. He lowers onto his haunches and dips the tip of his index finger in the blood and rubs it with his thumb. I try and not vomit, deeply regretting the two refills of chicken nuggets I scoffed down just an hour ago.

"This blood was put here about five to six hours ago" he deduces. "I would assume the murders happened a few moments before hand"

"So it was planned. Nobody carries around two gallons of blood for giggles" I say. "This was personal"

Romen looks at me, tilting his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, its kind of poetic, isn't it?" I ask. "Here are two vampires surrounded by the very thing they live off and yet they're dead. The blood must have a purpose. No one would go to this kind of trouble if it wasn't personal"

"So you're saying it's like the _perp_ is rubbing their noses in it?" asks Romen.

"Yeah, and whoever did this, really didn't like these two" I reply and he nods. Romen pats my shoulder and cracks his first smile of the day.

"Good job, Kid" he murmurs and turns his attention back to Wes. "Find anything else?"

"There isn't a lot to go off yet since the crime scene is saturated with all the wrong DNA but I found this in the male's blazer" he says. He hands Romen a wallet and he flips through it.

"The male's name is Renato Che, 30 years old" Wes says. He picks a book of matches from behind a couple of bills and turns it around in his hand. I can make out the neon colours of two palm trees and the name, _Tropico_.

"I know that club" says Wes. "Its down on boardwalk. It's got big neon palm trees that could make the moon shudder. You can't miss it"

At dawn, we drive down the muted backstreets of Little Havana. Filled with small Cuban bars and cafés. It was a far cry from Downtown, bustling with tourists walking up and the boardwalk, as the florescent neon lights of the strip beat the fading sun into submission, until the island was left to the waxen glow of the moon. Among the jittering neon signs that stretched across the boardwalk - advertising cheap beer, dancing girls and wild nights – on Ocean Drive, the towering palm trees of club Tropico stood out among the others, like two tiny depraved Eiffel Towers calling out to the souls of the boardwalk. Wes was right; they could make the moon shudder. At the doors were husky bouncers, denying entry to a long slew of eager college kids. Romen cut to the front, showing him the fake policing badge the Coterie gives its proxies. Its easier than explaining who we really work for. He looks over at me, unconvinced.

"She doesn't look over twenty-one" he states in a deep voice and Romen shrugs. He's right, I am only nineteen.

"She's a trainee, she looks younger than she is" he claims.

"Well can I see her badge?" the bouncer asks, a smug smile on his face like he just king-mated us. That's a teenie, tiny problem. I haven't been fully accepted into the Coterie's ranks yet because I haven't completed the training course, probably because haven't I even started it either. At the moment I have special consideration from the heads of HQ to continue working beside Romen as long as I do not handle any firearms or go snooping without supervision. Therefore, no fake badge for fake policing. Romen seems stumped for a moment on his reply so I try and take control.

"Listen here, Buddy" I begin. "We've been on a double shift today, okay? We have been shot at, jumped over fences, parkoured and did plenty of other, heroic cop shit. I am about this far away from booking you for obstruction of justice and slapping on another dozen misdemeanours if you do not let us in!"

For affect, I grab the cuffs I have tucked away in my waistband and swing them around my finger.

"Not to mention letting in minors" adds Romen.

"What? What minors?" demands the bouncer, turning red in the face. I grab the first girl out of the door and demand to see her ID. She's a blond bombshell with bright blue eyes so she probably didn't even need to show her ID, being good for business and all.

"Who the hell are you?!" she demands.

"I'm an undercover cop, ma'am" I say and her eyes widen.

"Says here your name is Lisa Tran" I say and she nods uncomfortably while the bouncer looks on.

"It also says here that you are 46" I read and she nods again. "Apparently you are also from Hong Kong"

She purses her lips, cocks her head to the side and nods. "Yep, sounds about right"

I roll my eyes. 'You look like Hitler's wet dream, honey. The closest you've been to China is eating at _Panda Express_" I state. I take her college ID from her wallet and read it out while she maintains her innocence.

"Hello Amanda" I say and she pouts. "Says here you are nineteen. Therefore a minor" I boast to the bouncer's face and his nostrils begin to flare.

"Please don't arrest me, please, please-" she begins to prattle.

"Fine, you are free to go" I say. "This is a warning though, Amanda. Get a better fake I.D. This woman looks nothing like you" I say and she nods thankfully, retreating down the boardwalk with haste. I turn my attention back to the bouncer who looks like he's about to bust a vein in his forehead.

"Looks like you should step down" I say. He huffs and bitterly steps aside so Romen and I could enter. As we walk in, Romen smiles incredulously at me and asks, "How did you know she was a minor?"

"I had no idea" I say. "I just grabbed the first person I saw"

He crosses his arms and makes a face at me.

"What?" I demand. "We got in, didn't we?" and he rolls his eyes.

The music was synthpop, something right out of the eighties and the inside was bathed in a mix of dull green, blue and pink neon glows as the club filled to the brim with partygoers.

"Mind if we ask you a couple of questions?" Romen asks the bartender and he smirks.

"On a Friday night? You'd have better luck getting an answer at a graveyard" the bartender replies coldly, pouring a beer for the guy next to us.

"How about now?" asks Romen, laying his badge on the counter. The bartender leers at us for a moment and shrugs.

"What do you need to know?"

"You know this guy?" Romen asks, handing him Che's I.D. He studies it for a bit, shrugs and shakes his head.

"Never seen him before" says the bartender. "I just started here a couple of weeks ago so if he's a regular, I wouldn't know about it"

"How about your friend over there?" Romen points to a female bartender pouring drinks on the other side of the bar.

"Hey! Mandy!" he shouts at her and she turns around. He hikes a thumb at us and takes over her shift. She saunters over, a look of caution on her face.

"What do you narcs want?" she asks, frustration clear in her tone.

"Is that how you talk to the police?"

"That's how I talk to everybody, if you got a problem with that, you can take it up with my supervisor"

"And who would that be?" replies Romen.

"Me" she says, frostily. "If this is about drugs or whatever you're here for, I can tell you now we don't know who deals the coke. You'd have better luck with the patrons"

"We're not here for that. We just need you to tell us if you've seen somebody"

Romen hands her the I.D. and she nods to herself.

"Yeah, I know this cat" she replies. "Use to come in every couple of days to see the boss"

"Whose _the boss_?"

"Club owner. Name's Henry Pope. He owns a quarter of the places on the boardwalk including this fine establishment here"

"Do you know why they were meeting?" asks Romen and she shakes her head guardedly.

"No" she replies. "They'd always go to the back where his office is and I wouldn't see him leave until closing time. Sometimes I would leave before them. Why are you asking me this? Is this something to do with Mr. Pope?"

"It does seem like it now" says Romen, brooding in the way he always does when another flashing dot has entered his radar.

"Did Renato ever come here with a girl with red hair?" I ask. Mandy's thoughtful for a moment but shakes her head.

"He came in with a different girl every week" she says. "Sometimes brunette bobs, sometimes blonds, a couple times with a redhead but I don't remember much else. I never got a good look. They'd always head straight for Henry's back office"

"Is Mr. Pope around?" asks Romen and she shakes her head.

"Nah, he's in L.A for a couple of days" she snaps. "Are we done here? I have customers"

"Yes, thank you. You've been a big help" Romen says in an almost taunting manner. She makes a face at him and returns to the crowd that surrounded her bar, waiting for drinks. We leave Tropico and get into the car.

"What do you think?" I ask and Romen presses his lips into a thin line.

"I think we have a new lead" he replies. "This Pope guy is definitely still in Miami so we should send out an APB and track down the fucker"

"You think she was covering for him?" and Romen nods.

"We're going to have a hard time I.D.'ing the girl" I say. "One thing's for sure, we're going to have break into Mr. Pope's back office"  
"Don't you mean, we'll need a warrant?" smirks Romen and we laugh. How does one even go about getting one of those? It's so much trouble. Here's an easy fix; lock picks and a little stealth.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning at dawn, we met with Wes at a small mortuary outside of town. He's got one of his well-tailored suits on and a plastic apron covered in insides and blood - what a welcome. He smiles warmly, like he hasn't just been dissecting two decomposing bodies and says, "Welcome to my modest office. I know it's not much but in my line of business, discreet is the best policy"

We say our distant hellos and he takes us through to the back, he calls the _Fridge_. There -on two metal slabs- lay the vampire bodies, naked and pale. The male was lying on his stomach, while the female – on her back. I try to remind myself that these were just vessels that once carried a soul, nothing else. Like the metal skeleton of a car without its engine or a shell without its hermit.

"The blood found at the scene was not human. It was pig's blood" says Wes. "Both bodies had no external or internal injuries on first inspection, except for scratch marks on the back of the male's neck. The results from the toxcreen on their cheek tissue were inconclusive. I even did tests on hair samples and it came up nil. Once again, I was stumped by this case, but that just would not do" Wes recounts. "So I went back to the drawing board"

He walked over to a literal drawing board on the left side of the room and spun it around theatrically. On it was what looked like several chemistry equations, a mind map and several dot points that needed a PHD to analyse. He looked like he was about to get into it so we anchored and prepared ourselves for our lecture.

"What do you think was wrong with my preliminary autopsy methods?" Wes asks, excitedly. Both Romen and I stay silent and Wes sighs, scratching his brow with his thumbnail.

"I was following procedure for humans, not vampires" he reveals. "You see, in my line of work it is extremely rare dealing with the remains of vampires. Firstly, they are very difficult to kill and secondly, they disintegrate instantly with more common practices of vampiric eradication. I had never seen such a well-preserved facsimile of their existence, therefore I was unprepared, and I had no idea what to look for" he paces clockwise around the two tables, with his hands behind his back and the image of Henry Gray popped into my head. "But, luckily, I know someone who does" Wes divulges, slyly. "After describing the case to a good friend of mine and a visionary in the field of paranormal pathology, she gave me several things to look for after I mentioned the possibility of poison. But there was no decomposition of veins and capillaries in the abdomen" he says, opening up the ribs like cupboard doors "Nor any sign of hyperaemia in the stomach" Wes notes, gesturing to the belly that was currently laying in a metal pan next to us. I cringe, wondering how long I've been standing right next to it.

"Which means?" Romen asks, already exhausted by all the clinical lingo.

"Which means if they were poisoned, it was not ingested" Wes replies.

"So they must have been injected with it" concurs Romen.

"Exactly!" Wes squeals, enthusiastically. He was happy that we were finally taking an interest in his oration. On closer inspection, Dr. Wes was most likely in his early forties. He wore spectacles out of need and I could make out a few strands of greying hair in his tight, slicked back hair. But whenever he smiled, he looked juvenile, like a young boy. "For poison to spread in a human, all you must do is break the barrier into the blood stream. But for a solution to spread in the body of a vampire, there is only one place of entry; the nerve centre. On the nape of their necks is a tiny puncture wound, invisible to the naked eye due to their healing properties before decomposition, but with the right magnification…" Wes swings out a large magnifying glass over the female's neck and calls us forward to inspect. I could just about make out a black dot in the very centre of her neck. "Dissection revealed blackened tissue and trace amounts of hawthorn. These vampires were definitely poisoned, but I can't tell you with what. I did find signs of cerebral edema in both victims though"

"Once again, Wes- not doctors" I remind him and he nods.

"Right" he murmurs apologetically. "They both had swelling of the brain, not to mention their nervous systems were destroyed by the poison, ergo they died a severe and excruciating death" he smiles. "Or better yet, reverted back to death since – you know – them being vampires and-"

"Yeah, yeah we get it" I interject. "How long did they suffer?'

"For about five to ten minutes or so" he replies. "The poison is a fast acting agent that destroys brain tissue and devastates signalling pathways. Similar to a neurotoxin, like Cyanide or Sarin gas"

"But you have no idea what kind of poison it is?" ask Romen and Wes shakes his head.

"I'm afraid not, but I am almost certain it's a HEXchange product" he replies. "I can only assume the traces of hawthorn was left by a hypodermic needle made of the same material, so that it could break through the skin and tissue but not hurt destruct the victim"

"The perp wouldn't be able to get close enough to the victims to inject it without them realizing. It had to be fired from a distance" says Romen. "We should go back to the crime scene" he says to me and then turns back to Wes. "Excellent job, Doctor. You gave us a break in the case"

Dr. Wes smiles again, a look of absolute reverence on his face. I could've sworn tears were beginning to sway at the corners his eyes.

"Really?" Wes asks with puppy-dog eyes.

Romen frowns, cocking an eyebrow. "Really" Romen pushes through his teeth. Wes claps his hands together in elation and then – under our awkward stare – composes himself once again with the clearing of his throat. "Mhm, glad I could be of service" he says formally with a deep voice.

We sit in the rental car, while Romen goes over the facts.

"From what I remember, the bungalow had a glass door that opened up to the backyard, which was facing the television. Maybe that's where they were shot from"

"The blood should be a good lead too" I say. "How many butchers have people come in asking for two gallons of pig's blood to go?"

"Who's going to call every butcher in Miami, Val?" Romen asks and I give him a look.

"No, there's no way I'm going to call him" he refuses.

"_He's_ the only one who can do it" I say. "He's the best in the business"

Romen huffs for a bit and slams his hand against the steering wheel. "Fine" he mutters.

Romen digs out his laptop from the back and opens up Skype. Yeah I know, for an organization more secretive than the FBI, you'd think we'd be more technologically advanced. Other than our own protected network, we try to keep it pretty simple. This public server is the only way a person can contact the _Eye_. "Who is the Eye?"- You may ask. Nobody really knows. He goes by several different aliases, but the most commonly known one is Daisuke, The Eye. He has his hands in pretty much everything, from surveillance and hacking to behavioural statistics and pattern recognition. If anything out of the ordinary happens, Daisuke will find it. It rings for a few moments and Romen sighs.

"This creep" he mutters to himself.

"What happened to _whatever the existence is, it balances another existence_" I say, reiterating the phrase Romen used almost two years ago to explain why we couldn't just cull these creatures out of reality.

Romen suddenly looked at me like I insulted him and huffed, "I don't think he's a creep because he's a _Hyakume_, Val". A Hyakume is a demon that inhabits derelict and abandoned places. It poses no real threat to humankind, but its known for a being a bit of a voyeur. Their true form is basically a lump of sludge dotted with a hundred eyes, all watching and analysing. When they feel a human presence near them, one of their eyes detaches like a phantom limb and follows the unsuspecting individual, or so the legend goes. They're basically a demon watchdog. "I think he's a creep because he's overtly sexual"

"Well, maybe I've just accepted my sexuality and exhibiting it with confidence" retorts a sharp voice over the loudspeakers of the laptop. While Romen was talking, we hadn't noticed that the call had gone through. "You should try it, Agent Ekkhard. Gods know, your frustration is probably what puts you in such a bad mood all the time-"

"Okay, okay. You see? This is why I didn't want to contact _him"_ spits Romen.

"He started it" retorts Daisuke and Romen looks over at me in astonishment.

"You _did_ start it" I concur and he rolls his eyes. I am thankful that the only light present around Daisuke is the glow of his many computer screens because he's in his demon form. His hundred eyes blink at us, I felt like he could see straight through me.

"How are you, my dear Valerie?" Daisuke asks with what I assume is a smile, at this point I can't tell what's a fold of flesh and what are the lips of his mouth.

"Can't complain, how about you?" I reply.

"Well, I just did the walk of shame" he says with a chuckle. "I tell you, the girls here are just-"

"Can we get to the part where you're useful?" interjects Romen in frustration and Daisuke rolls his hundred eyes in unison.

"We're in a bit of a pickle" I say.

"Anything I can help with?"

"Is there anyway you can call every butcher within the greater Miami area and ask if they've sold two gallons of pig's blood to anybody?"

"A strange, but do-able request. I'm on it" 

We log off and head back to the scene of the crime. Other than the crime tape strung up around the entrance, there's no other security. Romen picks the lock and we enter. The heat has dried the blood into a crust and it has now soaked into the cream carpets. The smell is horrific so Romen pulls open the sliding door to let in some breathable air.

"There's something I don't get" he says, pacing the room. "Wes said the poison took a minimum of five minutes to kill them, five minutes of excruciating pain"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, if you were in pain, you wouldn't be sitting up in on your sofa, watching TV" he explains. "You'd be rolling on the floor, screaming in agony"

And then it dawned on me. "Right, so the killer had to come inside at one point, pick the victims up from the ground, put them back on the couch, remove the hypodermic needles and then pour the blood out onto the carpet" I say.

"And to carry two gallons of blood, they would need a car" he adds.

"The police already screened everybody in the neighbourhood. Nobody saw a thing"

"Well, I doubt anyone would. This crime took place in the early morning hours. It was still dark out"

"Why these people?" I ask. "Is it because of who they are or of what they are?"

"Well, if it's a personal attack, it would be because of who they are" replies Romen. "Unless, this person has a bone to pick with vampires as a whole"

"That would be a problem" I say and he looks questioningly at me. "If this is discrimination against our blood-sucking friends, then a couple of vamps won't be enough to prove the point. There will be more murders. What do we do?"

"We wait and see if your theory is right" he replies. "Hopefully, we catch this guy before that happens"

We comb through the area but find nothing. Whoever did this, did a good job at cleaning up after themselves.

"Keep looking" orders Romen. "I'm gonna' make some calls" he disappears out the back into the garden while I pace the bloody floor. The crackle of dried blood under the heel of my shoe makes me shiver. What kind of person can do this? Who has the stomach for it? Or more likely, who has a strong enough vendetta for it?

It's not just taking a life; it's living with yourself afterwards, knowing that at any moment you could be caught. Paranoia is as deadly as any bullet or blade. If I were in pain for five minutes straight, I would want to know what the hell is going on. But I can't call a doctor if I'm a vampire, so what do I do?

I walk over to the couch, sit down and try to picture the steps they'd take. If I felt a pinch on my neck I'd slap at it. Then the excruciating pain would begin. I'd want to take a look at the wound. I run to the mirror in the bathroom, searching around the sink. When I find nothing, I lower onto my haunches and check under the sink. I wouldn't have seen it if I didn't know what I was looking for. A thin, sliver of wood -the length of a toothpick- was peeking out from under the gnarled grout sealant. I dig it out and place it in a sandwich zip lock bag. That explains the neck abrasions. The male wasn't scratching because of the pain; he was trying to scrape the needle out. Looks like our killer wasn't as thorough as we thought.

"Good news" Romen states, peeking into the bathroom. "APB came through on Mr. Pope. They pulled him over on route 41"

"I see your good news and I raise you one hypodermic needle" I say, holding up the baggy and Romen gives me one of his rare grins.

"That's my girl"


End file.
